


Recollections

by chromemuffin



Category: The Founder of Diabolism, The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: Character Study, Family Drama, Gen, Jiang Cheng's A+ Parenting, Raising Children is Difficult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-04 17:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14597595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chromemuffin/pseuds/chromemuffin
Summary: Being brothers with Wei Wuxian didn’t send Jiang Cheng to an early grave, but being A-Ling’s uncle just might finish the job.(or: being Jiang Cheng is suffering)





	1. 4 Years Later

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to take a break from Wikia-editing, so I ended it earlier than I usually would. There are one or two chapters left. I meant it to be fun, but it ended up a character study of sorts instead...

Although the cultivational world had been changed irrevocably by the conflicts of the past few years, the lakes of Yunmeng remained the same season after season. Looking upon the water’s surface was like looking upon the past through the reflection of a mirror. Whenever Jiang Cheng gazed into it too long, his chest would burn with hatred and anger and he would in turn snap at whichever person was closest to force that feeling into something productive.

For the first few years after the chaos settled down, Jiang Cheng threw himself into two pursuits: mending his sect and watching for the return of Wei Wuxian. He may not have known him as well as he thought he did when they were young, but he did know the man he once called his brother enough to predict with absolute certainty that he would return if it was within his power to do so.

This time, Jiang Cheng swore, he would stop him before it was too late. It was his duty – it had always been his duty. As much as he never wanted to hear Wei Wuxian’s name again, he could not afford to turn a blind eye to his actions when he returned to this world. Last time, Jiang Cheng lost almost everything dear to him because of his consideration for the boy who had roamed the lakes of Yunmeng with him. This time, Jiang Cheng would not be fooled. He could not afford to lose what remained – his clan and sect, limping along the road to reestablishing themselves, and A-Ling, his sister’s precious son.

The arrangement he had reached between the Jin clan and himself regarding his nephew bothered him from time to time those first two years. Occasionally, when he surfaced from his obligations as sect leader or the rare times he gazed out upon Lotus Pier without thinking of the person missing at his side, he thought of A-Ling who was living in Lanling. He did not doubt their ability to keep him safe, but knowing he was well and having him under his own watch were two different things.

The first year was almost easy, perhaps because Jiang Cheng was so busy that he barely had time to sleep or eat during those months. A few minutes each day was the most he could spare to visit him and listen to his caretaker’s reports. What he learned was that A-Ling was an energetic, resilient child. A little grumpy, perhaps, and always overexerting himself in his rush to do whatever it was that three-year-olds did. He toppled over more than once, but bit his lip and tried his best to keep the tears in his eyes from falling.

Looking back on those months, perhaps Jiang Cheng should have spared a little more time to do something about it. He had no experience with children, though, and figured that raising his nephew in the same way he had been was enough. Maybe if he had intervened, he could have saved himself the headaches.

(He pointedly ignored the fact that ‘second best’ and ‘a second too late’ seemed to define his life better than anything else.)

 

* * *

 

In the second year, Jiang Cheng knelt in front of a four-year-old A-Ling and asked for him to hold out his hand. He placed their sect’s silver bell in his palm and watched his brows furrow and lips twist in thought. Immediately after Jiang Cheng withdrew his hand, A-Ling picked it up and rolled it around, examining the nine-petal lotus engraved on its surface. Doing so made the bell ring. The crisp, clear chime caught his attention.

“You can tie it at your waist,” Jiang Cheng said. He leaned back as A-Ling plucked at the string attached to one end. “This is an item that only our sect – the Yunmeng Jiang – possess. Wear it with pride. It’s yours now.”

Even though Jiang Cheng did not have the opportunity to spend as much time as he wished when A-Ling was in Lotus Pier last, he had made sure to impress upon him this much during his visits. That, and careful explanations of how much his mother loved him, and how much she would have wanted to see him grow up if she was able. Jiang Cheng liked to think he understood at least some of it.

He let A-Ling struggle to tie the bell at his waist on his own. Even though his face contorted in frustration and he almost dropped it several times, he never gave up or asked Jiang Cheng to tie it for him. Something in Jiang Cheng stirred at his persistence, something prickly that he could not quite name.

“Got it!” A-Ling shouted happily when he finally managed to tie a knot, however inelegant. Jiang Cheng gave him a sharp, satisfied nod. He could tell him what it meant later; he could already see A-Ling itching to run off and show it to his caretaker. Jiang Cheng sent him away, shaking his head slightly at the rushed, “Thank you, bye!” he received.

Jiang Cheng truly should have known better.

It was only several hours later that A-Ling’s caretaker drew him aside before dinner. She made a few failed attempts at explaining herself, glancing at him with mild panic a few times. Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed, which only seemed to make her stutter worsen, and his crossed arms made her back stiff.

“What is it?” he said.

“Uh, well, you see…”

It was unusual for Jiang Cheng to visit A-Ling twice in one day. He had been trying to spend a little more time with him than last year and even scheduled the outings he devoted to keeping a watch out for Wei Wuxian’s soul to the months that A-Ling was in Lanling. However, his duties as sect leader were many and tedious, and he had learned his lesson about riling the boy up right before it was time to sleep.

Today would have to be an exception.

Jiang Cheng crossed his arms. He tried to relax his stance a bit by dropping his shoulders, slouching a little, and resisting the urge to scowl without wiping the disapproving frown off his face.

“Do you have something to say to me?” he asked.

A-Ling’s small smile faded a little as Jiang Cheng pointed at the silver bell dangling at his waist. It was no longer in the shape of a sphere and did not emit the calming chime it should have when it moved.

Perhaps his tone of voice had been a bit too harsh, because A-Ling ducked his head and seemed torn between wanting to run out of there to escape his wrath, or argue and defend himself, as impossible as that was at his age. There was no logic to form an argument in the first place; he had done it on a whim, as kids were wont to do when they were still unable to weigh the consequences and act accordingly. Still, not understanding the significance of the object did not mean it was acceptable to chew on it like a dog.

With a sigh, Jiang Cheng held his hand out, palm up. “Give it. I’ll get you a new one, as long as you promise not to bite it.”

“I promise!” A-Ling said, stumbling over his words in his rush to say them.

After he walked away, he eyed A-Ling’s caretaker, not particularly caring if she quailed at the sight of him.

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he said. She nodded, a stream of platitudes flowing freely from her lips.

He ignored them and kept walking. It was only a tiny inconvenience not even worth the worry in the grand scheme of things. A-Ling was, after all, said to be a bright kid. The lessons at this age were simple matters of learning to read and write, and of their sect’s basic rules and customs, but he apparently tackled them with enthusiasm. It was natural for kids to misbehave and make mistakes. Jiang Cheng trusted that he would not do it in the future after being scolded a little.

With that thought, Jiang Cheng wiped the incident from his mind.

 

* * *

 

In the beginning of the fourth year, Jiang Cheng was tempted to breathe a sigh of relief. The cultivational world was stabilizing and recovering. The only reason he refused to let his guard down was due to the inability of anyone to summon Wei Wuxian’s soul, and the complete lack of strange incidences across the land that would surely occur if he had returned. The people he asked to report back to him began to grumble that perhaps in losing his entire body, his soul had also scattered into too many pieces to be reassembled again.

Jiang Cheng merely cast them a withering glare and said that they were welcome to be the first in line to fall to those rabid ghost soldiers of his when he did return.

No one complained after that.

Although he was not foolish enough to believe this relative peace would last for long, he still grumbled when the chaos started up again. Over half a clan, murdered in a single night while trapped in their own residence? The news traveled to the shores of the lakes of Yunmeng without Jiang Cheng having to do anything. He sent people out to glean what they could from the rumors, as he was preoccupied with travel arrangements to the discussion conference that would take place at Lanling’s Carp Tower.

At that time, no one dared to mention that it might not be the Yiling Patriarch’s doing to his face. The chance was high, but not certain. Still, taking just one look at the fierce angles of his face was enough for them to vehemently agree, it might just be him.

However, it was someone else. Someone no less worrying, but in this case, there was not much Jiang Cheng could do. If Wei Wuxian had returned it would be within his duty to respond. Since their sect was still in a precarious position and connected to the Jin Sect only through their joint custody of A-Ling, the only action he could take was to suggest that A-Ling stay with the Jiang Sect until the conflict settled.

Because he was reaching a ‘troublesome’ and ‘rebellious’ age and they had no shortage of other headaches to deal with after one of their disciples was accused of murder, they readily agreed.

A-Ling was six this year. Jiang Cheng did not think he was ‘rebellious’ on account of his age, nor his personality. Unlike in the past, he had the time to observe and get to know his nephew by now. He was not a troublemaker at heart. In fact, he perhaps took life too seriously for a child his age. He was stubborn and too used to things going his way. Inevitably, he was going to get into trouble soon or later.

Jiang Cheng was secretly glad that Wei Wuxian had only come to live with them when they were eight or nine. To say he disliked even thinking about his once-brother was an understatement, but for just one moment, he allowed himself this thought without much more than a slightly bitter, mirthful huff.

He was too preoccupied with the struggle to control his anger to direct it at a person who currently was not even in this world. Keeping the anger building in his chest from carrying to his voice was proving futile, because unlike when A-Ling was three or four, he had the mind to object to adults and not just out of frustration now.

Jiang Cheng was not sure how he managed to crawl onto the rooftop, nor why he was adamant about staying up there. He could very well jump up there and drag him down himself, but it would only solve the immediate problem. Just a few months ago, Jiang Cheng might have done that and moved on.

After recent events, however, he realized something.

When it came to Wei Wuxian and his crimes, the world had been too kind up until the very end of his life. Many things had happened, but ultimately, Jiang Cheng had always excused his behavior on account of knowing he would not stop even if Jiang Cheng screamed himself hoarse or beat him over the head. He had thought his brother was a lost cause and no one could change his wild nature, and because they were brothers in all aspects except by blood, he had even supported his antics and got him out of trouble more times than he could count.

Jiang Cheng doubted things would have turned out differently even if he had been stricter, but it certainly had not helped. While he gazed out upon the lakes of Yunmeng and the boats drifting across their waters, he sometimes wondered. If the world had been stricter, if Wei Wuxian had been forced to face the consequences of his actions and those consequences had been harsher than writing lines and lashed a few times, might they not have had to go through all that hardship?

He knew thinking about it was stupid and unproductive. It would not change anything.

But, when he thought of the things he and his ‘brother’ had done as kids, and stared up at A-Ling’s disgruntled face on the rooftop, he thought that maybe it was not a wasted thought.

“I will only say it one more time. Get. Down.”

He could see A-Ling’s resolve waver. This time, the anger infused in his voice was not tempered or downgraded, his mood darkening considerably after Wei Wuxian crossed his mind. Even the disciples who had found A-Ling and reported his location to Jiang Cheng looked as if they wanted to flee or sink into the earth to avoid his wrath.

However, as it was becoming glaringly apparent to Jiang Cheng, children did not know fear in the true sense of the word. A-Ling looked a little nervous the last time he stayed in Lotus Pier and Jiang Cheng spared some time to take him out on a boat. He had demanded a story or two – and Jiang Cheng ended up stepping back onshore with a faintly quivering five-year-old who vehemently claimed he was not scared of water ghouls coming to eat him in one gulp. How oddly specific, he thought suspiciously at the time.

(Jiang Cheng still had yet to find the idiot who told him “water ghouls eat bad children” instead of teaching him something useful about them, but when he did, he would make them wish they were never born.)

This time, however, he seemed to be over his fear of water ghouls. Instead, he was adamant on not doing anything he was told because of some perceived wrongdoing he felt had been inflicted on his person. Jiang Cheng truly did not know what he did to slight the boy this time, nor did he seem willing to explain it.

“You know what you did!” he had shouted from the rooftop earlier. Those were not his own words, evidently.

It was at that point that Jiang Cheng decided to do away with his restraint. Restraint had never done him much good and it was best to stop this before it got out of hand, he’d decided.

He could not afford to lose what he had left: this land, the clan and sect, A-Ling. If he had to be ‘mean’ to get his point across, then so be it.

“If you make me come up there and get you, I will break your legs!” he snarled. It felt too real to be an act, making the Jiang Sect disciples scatter a safe distance away at last. “That way, you won’t be able to go running off and do stupid things! Do you think I’m joking?”

Of course, anyone who knew Jiang Cheng would never have believed him. He would never hurt Yanli’s son. However, those who knew him only as the Sandu Shengshou might have their doubts. He was not nearly as violent and volatile as Chifeng-zun, but when he was not someone to trifle with when he did get angry.

It was after nearly a minute of staring his nephew in the eyes from afar that the boy began to move. He, too, might have doubted whether his uncle would really break his legs. However, he seemed to have some sense of self-preservation and figured it was safer if he did listen this time, just in case.

Jiang Cheng watched him carefully as he crawled off the rooftop. Each step made Jiang Cheng’s chest constrict and his breath halt in anticipation. The last thing he needed was for the kid to really break his legs climbing down. With Jiang Cheng’s luck, he would end up believing his uncle was a monster capable of breaking legs without even touching the victim and either hide from him in fear or spit at him in resentment.

The going was slow, and for a split second he thought A-Ling would panic and forget his grudge to ask for help, but the kid managed to find his way down by himself. His landing was a bit clumsy, but nothing was broken or sprained and he shook the last of his nerves off just as Jiang Cheng was walking over to scold him some more. Before he could say anything, A-Ling uttered a quick, meaningless apology and ran off.

Jiang Cheng sighed. What in the world were they teaching him in Lanling?

“Go follow him,” he said in voice loud enough to carry all the way to the disciples hiding between the houses some distance away. “If I hear that he managed to trap himself on a roof again…”

“Yes, Sect Leader!” they answered in unison.

Jiang Cheng felt an oncoming headache. Shaking his head, he turned around.


	2. 8 Years Later

In the fifth and sixth years, Jiang Cheng watched from afar as A-Ling directed all of his energy, which he used to spend running around and causing his caretakers grief, towards honing his skills. A child’s sword work was shaky and perhaps unimpressive, but the effort and concentration in his narrowed eyes impressed Jiang Cheng from the bottom of his heart. He had never been as diligent as a child.

“Good work,” he commented from time to time, if they crossed paths during the day. A-Ling would quietly huff and shrug off the hand on his head, but his back always straightened a little more and the look in his eyes grew sharper. Well, until Jiang Cheng added, “But you need to work on your form. You don’t slouch; your sword point shouldn’t, either.”

“Yes, Uncle,” he would respond, not quite sullen enough to concern him that the boy was too stubborn to learn. On subsequent encounters, Jiang Cheng would see him attempt to fix whatever foible he had pointed out the day before. It was imperfect, but A-Ling was only seven. Even when he turned eight, not much changed. Jiang Cheng still saw him practice in the hall or in the courtyard, sometimes at remarkably early hours of the morning.

Despite the whispers he heard around corners and down the halls, Jiang Cheng saw no point in correcting this behavior. A-Ling might have been too serious for his age, Jiang Cheng agreed, but it was better than acting as a fool. The only time he intervened was when the boy managed to injure himself from training too much.

“What’s the point if you destroy your body before you gain any real results?” Jiang Cheng’s voice vibrated with firm disapproval. Not quite anger, but it still made A-Ling sulk and refuse to defend himself.

His ankle was wrapped in bandages and medicine, making it impossible to run away this time. He’d tried once already. It was a simple matter of Jiang Cheng grabbing his shoulder and shoving him back down. After that, he didn’t dare escape his uncle’s harsh glare again. He seemed unbothered by both the attendants who fussed over him earlier and the fact that each one fled when it became clear that Jiang Cheng was going to scold him. His arms were crossed and his frown almost a pout, but that was normal.

Deep in Jiang Cheng’s chest, he did feel a twinge of pain for a moment. It was good that A-Ling was not overly reliant on others, and especially not to bail him out of the trouble he caused himself. But, when he looked upon his nephew’s eight-year-old body, still quite tiny in the grand scheme of the world, he did feel a twinge of pity. _If only his parents were still around, he might not need to bear this weight alone,_ Jiang Cheng thought. A-Ling was stubborn, but his mother could be, too, when it came to caring for the people she loved.

“Well?” Jiang Cheng demanded after several minutes had passed.

“Well,” A-Ling said. More like spat. Who taught him such manners? Even if Jiang Cheng was his uncle, he was still his elder. “All of you always say ‘strive to better yourself’ and ‘make your sect proud through your efforts’, don’t you? So, what is wrong with practicing? Am I supposed to get better by doing nothing?”

Jiang Cheng wanted to sigh, then shout, and maybe whack him over the head. But he was an adult now, the leader of a sect, and this boy’s uncle.

(He was beginning to wonder whether he should cancel that matchmaking session he scheduled for next week or not. He had enough to deal with these days.)

“Have I ever said you should master the sword in a day, or you’ll be a disgrace? Have I?” Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes and let his voice deepen. Eight was not old enough for A-Ling to be so stubborn that he wouldn’t respond to his uncle’s displeasure eventually. “Answer me, A-Ling.”

“…No. But…!”

“But nothing!” Jiang Cheng said. He was careful not to shout, but his voice still carried into the hallway with its force. “Do you want to cripple yourself permanently because of your impatience? Why wear that silver bell, or the Jin Sect’s vermilion mark, if you are only going to act like a fool?”

A-Ling ducked his head. Half of him hunched over in shame, the other half bit his lip in anger. Jiang Cheng did not need to guess at the emotions of an eight-year-old. Even without words, he could tell that his shaking fists were a painful reminder to himself – and an admonishment.

If there was one thing he knew about his nephew, it was that A-Ling was a proud boy. He was not an official disciple of the Lanling Jin Sect at this age, but he stated his name with pride and at least tried to carry himself as if he was one already. Jiang Cheng had heard the unintentionally hurtful words people spoke of him, parentless as he was, but he had never seen A-Ling depressed by them. He only held his head higher.

To hear he had been disgracing them, even unintentionally, was probably made him feel awful. Jiang Cheng allowed that bitterness to fester for a time. He sat back as if waiting for a response, though he knew one would never come.

“Your mother would have been proud to see your efforts,” he said at last, startling the boy. “But it wouldn’t make what you’ve been doing any less stupid. She wouldn’t want to see you hurt yourself to make her proud.”

Bringing up his mother successfully made A-Ling pause, his indignant anger melting away.

“Rushing does you no good. Haven’t I told you this before? It is those foolish, corrupt types of cultivators who were too impatient to take the proper path of cultivation that led to your parents’ deaths.” A-Ling was still, the heat of Jiang Cheng’s words enough to quell whatever protests or justifications he had left. “Even if it should take you longer than most, it is still far more honorable than turning away from the righteous path.”

He could not help how his voice rose and ended with a note of finality. It was not that he feared A-Ling would ever stray from the proper teachings, but he needed to learn that rushing and injuring himself was not acceptable, either.

“I…understand, Uncle,” A-Ling said, finally lifting himself out of his shame and embarrassment.

Jiang Cheng appraised him for a moment. Then, after he was sure A-Ling was not just saying it to be rid of him quicker, he nodded. “Good. Rest and take it easy for a few days.”

 

* * *

 

In the seventh year, Jiang Cheng was growing impatient. He almost wished that Wei Wuxian would rise and wreak havoc just for the simple fact that he would no longer have to wait and diligently scope out the entire continent for signs of him. It was almost amazing how much the guy continued to inconvenience him, even in death. _Temporary_ death, that was. Though, more and more people dared to believe he would never return.

In fact, a few even foolishly suggested he “let it go” and “answer the call if it comes, but stop obsessing”.

It made sense that those cultivators boldly said such a thing. No cultivator from his sect would dare. And now, the fools who implied that he was letting Wei Wuxian control him from beyond the grave would never make such a mistake again. He hadn’t seriously injured them. In fact, he’d only had to lightly touch Zidian and suggest that he was going to bring out its whip form for them to kowtow and apologize until they were blue in the face.

That happened a week ago.

This week was the last week that A-Ling would spend in Lotus Pier before returning to Lanling’s Carp Tower. And, for the first time since Jiang Cheng and Jin Guangshan settled on this arrangement, Jiang Cheng was a little relieved.

A-Ling had stopped climbing rooftops he could not descend from, and he was learning to temper himself during practice, but in exchange, his nine-year-old self was convinced that accompanying his uncle on a night-hunt was not only normal, but to be expected. Jiang Cheng did not even hear a question in his words on his first day back in Yunmeng, just a demand: “Take me with you on your next night-hunt.”

“No,” Jiang Cheng had said instantly.

“Why not?” A-Ling shot back just as quickly.

He was busy imagining what Yanli would have said to him if he dared to say ‘yes’. Then, he wondered what the boy’s other uncle had said or done to put this idea in his head. No matter how hard he tried to imagine it, he could only think that Jin Guangyao was a reasonable man. A nine-year-old going on a night-hunt did not sound reasonable.

“I’m almost ten!” A-Ling said, as if he read Jiang Cheng’s mind. Or, he had probably heard it before. You’re too young. Wait a few years.

“Why?” Jiang Cheng asked, eyes narrowed. If his voice dipped just a slight bit too low, he blamed it on his mind consoling him on how this conversation could be infinitely more difficult if a certain someone hadn’t set out to destroy the cultivational world in one way or another.

“I – You said I need experience, real experience! Right? How am I going to get that just hitting things in practice?”

Jiang Cheng wanted to ask bitterly, Couldn’t you have at least waited until you were ten? Or heavy enough that I can’t lift you with one arm like a cat?

“You go out with the others to hunt water ghouls,” Jiang Cheng pointed out. They hunted with nets, followed the rules, and absolutely made sure that the Sect Leader’s nephew returned to shore in one piece. It was relatively safe and an essential part of life in Yunmeng, an activity every disciple spent hours on before they proved themselves worthy of more.

“But it’s boring,” A-Ling grumbled. It was a little boring, when done the normal way. Jiang Cheng did not dare share any stories of his own experiences hunting water ghouls. He simply leveled a glare at his nephew and watched as a supremely unhappy expression crossed his face.

He was getting better at glaring at people. This, Jiang Cheng knew with exasperated certainty, he did not learn from Jin Guangyao.

“If you don’t master the ‘boring’ things, how do you ever expect to–”

“I know!” A-Ling interrupted, looking a bit like Jiang Cheng had affronted him. “I know, one must cultivate right path…but I want to see, not do anything. ‘Observation is a form of learning’, right?”

Now, that was certainly something he learned from his other uncle. Stumbling over the word ‘observation’ meant he was merely parroting what he had heard.

Likely, A-Ling had no idea how dangerous and terrifying some night-hunts could be. The stories he had heard were all just that: stories. Fantastic and exaggerated, filled with heroics and a few cautionary tales. Scare him too young, and he would avoid them in the future.

“Next year,” Jiang Cheng said, because he knew he could not avoid this forever. A-Ling did need experience, just not this week, nor this month. “I’ll make a promise with you. In return, you must not interfere at all, no matter who it is you are following. Do you understand?”

A-Ling’s genuine, carefree smiles were rare. Jiang Cheng regretted that the most out of almost everything in the mountain of regrets he carried with him.

“Yes, Uncle!”

 

* * *

 

In the eighth year, Jiang Cheng finally allowed A-Ling to accompany him on a night-hunt. This night-hunt had a slightly ulterior motive, granted, but they did encounter a few walking corpses that the disciples dispatched with ease while Jiang Cheng held A-Ling back by the collar. He’d brought his black spiritual dog with him, which was the only reason Jiang Cheng ultimately agreed to let him come along, prior promises be damned.

It was a good dog. Better behaved than the little brat squirming under his grip, at least.

“What did I tell you before we left Lotus Pier?” he demanded as he set his nephew down and held him in place with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Your memory had better not be as short as that temper of yours.”

A-Ling scowled.

“If you break my legs, you’ll just have to carry me back, you know!”

If Jiang Cheng wasn’t holding him, he would probably have tried to run off. He even considered allowing him to do so for a moment, to teach him not to fool around on night-hunts. Walking corpses were practically harmless and easily to outrun, but this was the first time A-Ling had ever seen them in person. He had balked at the stench and hidden his apprehension behind a haughty facade, not exactly the mark of someone prepared to go face-to-face with one.

A-Ling’s dog wagged its tail as it sat patiently next to them, awaiting orders. He would be fine with the dog around, even if he did escape. With that thought, Jiang Cheng released A-Ling’s collar.

“If I have to carry you back, you’ll wish you were dead,” he snapped, casting a glare at his nephew before going forward to consult with the disciples cleaning their swords of necrotic blood. Walking corpses were definitely not the reason they were out here, after all.

“Sect Leader!” the disciples greeted him stiffly.

“Anything?” Jiang Cheng could hear Fairy’s sharp yips behind him, which meant that A-Ling was still around.

“Y-Yes,” said one of the disciples, a boy who seemed the most skittish of all five present, yet the one who had chosen to speak for the others. Or, rather, had ‘been’ chosen. “Some of the walking corpses bear marks and injuries that ordinary animals wouldn’t have left.”

“Ordinary animals avoid walking corpses, and they don’t attack each other, either,” Jiang Cheng pointed out. Though he thought he did a good job of keeping his voice perfectly calm, the disciple still flinched slightly. His eyes darted to the side, focusing on the spot behind Jiang Cheng rather than on him directly. _Whatever,_ Jiang Cheng thought, _as long as we get done tonight, before the bastard leaves the area._

“Y-Yes, sir,” the disciple nodded. “Um. Zhexuan-xiong said that he heard flute music come from a village near here when he was passing through. We haven’t heard anything yet, though.”

“Keep listening,” Jiang Cheng said, nodding sharply.

The disciple in front of him seemingly emptied his lungs entirely of air in his relief from not invoking Jiang Cheng’s temper. His head snapped up a split second later and he uttered an ungainly gasp.

“What?” Jiang Cheng said, grumbling. He nonetheless turned around to see for himself rather than wait for the boy to stammer out an answer, only to find that there was nothing behind him.

Nothing. No black dog, no A-Ling.

Jiang Cheng didn’t bother sighing, since he almost wanted it to happen himself.

“Keep investigating,” he said. “If you find the guy, catch him. Don’t feel bothered if you break a bone or two in the process.”

As for Jiang Cheng – he was off to make sure his nephew did not somehow manage to get attacked by a walking corpse.

By the time Jiang Cheng found a slightly disappointed A-Ling, who had not encountered any walking corpses, the disciples already tracked down the cultivator they were searching for. Jiang Cheng’s lip curled at the mere thought; anyone who followed the demonic path was hardly qualified to be a cultivator in his eyes.

“We’re heading back,” he told A-Ling, turning the boy around with a hand on his back. A-Ling craned his neck trying to catch a glimpse of the scuffle behind them.

“Weren’t we here to night-hunt?” he asked. More like demanded. Jiang Cheng wondered if he spoke to Jin Guangyao like this. Knowing how nice the guy was, he probably let A-Ling run his mouth with only a slight reprimand for being rude to his elders.

“We received a report of demonic cultivation being practiced in the area,” Jiang Cheng said, unable to help the disgust and hatred rolling off his tongue at the mention of it. A-Ling frowned, quieting down a bit. Jiang Cheng glanced down at the top of his head. “It’s our duty to stop such crooked practices before they ruin the lives around them. Even if it is a seemingly small matter, it bears investigation, don’t you agree?”

A-Ling nodded enthusiastically, twisting around and upwards to address him. “I agree!” he said without the slightest hesitation. At hearing his voice rise, Fairy yipped at his heels. “So, are we going back to Lotus Pier now? When can come back out? Does it have to be walking corpses next time? They stink!”

Jiang Cheng took a deep breath and walked a little faster. He had hoped the excitement of apprehending a criminal would have distracted him, but apparently not.

“Talk about it when we get back,” Jiang Cheng said shortly to stop A-Ling from spewing any further questions. He would be busy for the rest of the night, potentially into morning if this really was Wei Wuxian, and hopefully by then he would have moved on.

 

* * *

 

They were always “innocent”.

“And just how many times do you think I’ve heard that before?” Jiang Cheng freely released the hatred bubbling up inside of him, letting it flow to his fingertips as he slammed a fist on the table, and coat his words with a particularly venomous tone. “I’ll give you one last chance. Aren’t I nice?”

He did not need to state what would happen if the man in front of him did not speak the truth. He had Zidian extended into a whip, which crackled faintly with a distinctive purple glow. Spiritual energy flowed between himself and the weapon, feeding it as his muscles tensed in preparation for the first and final blow. Zidian never failed, one way or another.

“I-I’m not, I swear, I’m not the Yiling Patriarch!”

First, the man had been adamant, then insulting. He’d called Jiang Cheng crazy and obsessed, blinded by a ghost that was no longer around. It was all criticism he’d heard before, even from within his own sect. It was acceptable to punish criminals who followed the demonic path, but it drew harsh whispers and narrowed eyes just because he was the only one still searching for Wei Wuxian’s return.

“So, you don’t admit it.” Jiang Cheng said it with a voice of absolute calm, perhaps a little mocking disappointment. He was staring straight into the man’s eyes, but even that was not enough to tell whether this was the Yiling Patriarch.

With a twitch of his wrist, Jiang Cheng sent Zidian after the man, its bolt of purple-tinted lightning lashing out and biting deeply into flesh.

The scent filled the room even before the screams. A burning smell, foul and gritty, invaded his lungs. The crackle of the whip followed by a shriek of pain echoed in his ears. When the man’s scream had subsided, a flurry of words escaped even as blood oozed from the burnt skin on his upper arm and chest. He’d turned just enough to avoid taking the brunt of the attack in the chest.

“Please, I’ll give up on cultivation for the rest of my life! I swear, so–”

Jiang Cheng could not listen to it any longer. No matter how much he hardened his heart, even to the very end when he was prepared to end that person’s life with his own hands if needed, there was only so much he could hear. The people who claimed he enjoyed torturing people with the likeness of his former brother could not be more wrong.

He did not feel pleasure hearing people scream in pain. And so, he moved to make the man shut up.

Only years of honing his skills, including years spent in one war or another, were what alerted him to the soft sound of a door opening behind him. It was unusual in its timidity; most disciples or other subordinates who had something urgent to report would either crash straight into the room or announce themselves before they stepped inside.

Still gripping Zidian, which danced faintly across the floor like a live eel, Jiang Cheng glanced over his shoulder. The short figure that had been peering inside was gone before he had a chance to see more than a shadow, but it could be no one other than A-Ling sneaking around at night, curious about the cultivator they brought back. Thinking back, he had been awfully well-behaved at dinner, not even asking about the matter.

“What.” Jiang Cheng kept his voice firm to avoid sounding weak before this – well, he wasn’t possessed by the Yiling Patriarch, that was certain, though Jiang Cheng was not about to give up just because one method had failed. “Come in. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

His voice must have sounded darker than he thought, because A-Ling scurried inside at once. His eyes were wide as they darted between Jiang Cheng and the man crawling on the floor, trying to escape in vain.

“Is it _that_ person…?” A-Ling asked. He must have asked someone else, then, or simply overheard others in the sect mumbling about Jiang Cheng’s obsession. The look on his face was confused and conflicted, his frown deepening.

Jiang Cheng sighed and turned around, glaring at the cultivator who was nursing his arm against his chest. Jiang Cheng hadn’t struck to kill and it left very little blood, but it was still a nasty wound. The man said nothing, only stared at Jiang Cheng with a glare of fear and resentment.

“That might not be the case,” Jiang Cheng said. If it was Wei Wuxian, he would have already said something infuriating or attempted to run while Jiang Cheng was distracted by A-Ling’s arrival. “However, one can never be too sure. Wei Wuxian created that evil item, as well as many other immoral practices. Even if this man is not him, he is still guilty of following those same evil and crooked ways. Do you remember what I told you should be done with these types?”

A-Ling nodded, just a touch shy of his usual confident enthusiasm when he could answer a question correctly. He had likely never seen a wound the size of the one on the man across the room, nor a look filled with such hatred directed at his uncle.

“‘The only fitting punishment is death!’” A-Ling said.

“That’s right.” Jiang Cheng nodded grimly, lifting Zidian slightly, its length trailing across the floor like a living thing. “Kill the cultivator and feed him to the dogs!”[1]

He didn’t move, to the surprise of the two in the room with him.

“Uncle?” A-Ling’s slightly demanding tone had returned.

Jiang paused for a moment. A-Ling was getting older. Soon, he would have to make his way in the world as a cultivator in his own right, on his own strength. It wouldn’t do to shelter him forever. The world was never that kind.

“This will take the rest of the night,” Jiang Cheng lied. He only needed a few more moments to assure himself that Zidian did not fail him. “Go back to bed.”

“What?” A-Ling said, voice rising. If they weren’t sequestered in a quiet part of the residence, Jiang Cheng would have yelled at him for raising his voice and potentially disturbing everyone around. “Why? I’m not a little kid anymore!”

Perhaps because he knew his impending fate, the cultivator on the floor scoffed. Jiang Cheng shot him a blistering glare.

“Leave,” Jiang Cheng said before A-Ling started screeching at their prisoner. He stalked towards his nephew, which made him pause warily. “Or are you going to make me carry you back to your room?”

A-Ling almost growled at him, the look on his face as livid as a ten-year-old could get, but he lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, then turned around. He stomped on his way out, slamming the door behind him.

Jiang Cheng no longer bothered to shake his head. He had other things to concern himself with, like scoundrels who followed a crooked path of cultivation that did nothing but destroy and thrust lives into despair.

“You brought this upon yourself,” he said as he lifted Zidian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1Quote from Chapter 7 of the ExR translation.[return]
> 
> Let it be said that Jiang Cheng's parenting is definitely not the proper way to raise kids, lol. Threatening to break bones and letting a ten year old see you torturing a man is not good parenting in anyone's book. Thank goodness for Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, right?
> 
> I thought a lot about including the last scene, mainly because it maybe paints him in a better light than it should, but in the end figured it was reasonable to assume he doesn't actually _enjoy_ the act of torturing people so much as he enjoys stamping Wei Wuxian's legacy out of his life in any way possible and believes he has some responsibility to do so.

**Author's Note:**

> If you think a silver bell on a string _wouldn't_ be tempting for a four-year-old to bite, think again. I know. I did it myself. Granted, I couldn't make a dent in the tiny gold bells, but the charm of the zodiac animal I was born under, haha...
> 
> Feel free to come talk to me on [tumblr](http://mihanada.tumblr.com/) and join me in my incoherent screaming about GDC.


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